


band-aids

by ashtonsbabygurl



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam makes Ronan go to therapy, Angst, Established Relationship, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Making Up, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-The Raven King, Ronan makes Adam go too, Stockholm Syndrome, Takes place after TRK, Therapy, in a really dramatic way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtonsbabygurl/pseuds/ashtonsbabygurl
Summary: Adam took a moment to completely take in everything Ronan had said. It was all true. Adam never gave himself time to relax, to heal. His whole life it felt like he was taking the hits and trying to minimize the damages—never had he actually had time to heal. Now, he realized, Ronan, in a way, never did either.;Or, Adam and Ronan try to talk about their problems instead of ignoring them, for once.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> okayokaokay lets see how this goes 
> 
> this fic was inspired by this post though i have seen other posts similar to it. so i thought i would try and write a decent multi-chaptered fic ???
> 
> i will be updating this weekly, but if this gets good feedback, i can have another chapter up in a few days! also, tw for mentions of abuse, drinking, drunk driving, and a few things of the sort (all pretty vague except adam's abuse is talked about for a little), so just a heads up!

Adam knew he shouldn’t be worrying. At least not now, not about this, not after everything they had just been through, everything they had just gotten over. Gansey was alive, Adam had graduated, everyone was together. Everything was… good. For the most part.

Tonight, Ronan wasn’t answering his calls. And, he wasn’t at St. Anges. Or the Barns. Or Monmouth. It was typical Ronan behavior, or well, old Ronan. Ronan hadn’t missed a night with Adam in months, at least not without telling him first. Adam remembered times where it seemed like Ronan would disappear for days at a time, but that was before. He had thought things were different now. 

It occurred to Adam that falling in love wasn’t going to fix all of Ronan. He was a magician, but he wasn’t magic. He knew that Ronan was still prone to getting in fights, prone to getting drunk, prone to speeding down dangerous streets and prone to dreaming up savage night horrors. He couldn’t protect him from everything and that made him angry. It made him worried and upset and mad and he wished it would stop. 

Why couldn’t he just call?

It went on like this for what felt like hours. It was hours. It wasn’t until nearly four in the morning that Ronan pulled up to St. Anges. To Adam, it felt like a night from many months ago. They were supposed to be progressing in their relationship, not going back. 

Adam realized now, with Ronan’s BMW in the parking lot, that he might have been blowing this all out of proportion. It wasn’t even sunrise yet. And it was Ronan. Of course he would be in late. Of course he wouldn’t be answering his phone. And of course he would probably smell of alcohol. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

In spite of that, he still made Adam angry. If Adam wasn’t allowed to indulge himself in his bad habits, then Ronan shouldn’t be able to either. 

When Ronan came through the door, Adam took a breath. He didn’t want to fight. For a second, he thought he could just call Ronan to bed and they would sleep and it would be over with. But, he knew that not dealing with this now would just cause more problems down the line. He couldn’t risk that. Not now, not with Ronan, not when he was leaving for college so soon. Adam couldn’t lose this. 

"Hey," Ronan said, quietly, shutting the door behind him. It was quiet, the tension in the room thick. Ronan didn't move from the doorway.

"You’ve been drinking?" Adam asked first. He figured if he was sober there would be less to talk about, and if he was drunk he could hold off on having this conversation. 

Ronan shrugged. "A little."

"You didn't think to call?” Adam asked. 

“Nope.” 

"Busy night?" Adam asked, his tone heavier this time. He didn’t break eye contact with Ronan, he wanted the other to see how upset he was. 

Ronon scoffed. "Fuck you."

"No, seriously," Adam stood up now. "What was so important that you had to blow off your boyfriend and ignore all of his calls? Really?” Adam knew what Ronan did when he wasn't there wasn't anything that excruciatingly horrible in itself, but he didn't like the feeling it gave him. 

"It was just a bad night, Adam,” Ronan said like it was nothing. 

Ronan looked especially rough around the edges tonight. He looked like he was high on adrenaline; he looked good in all the wrong ways and it drove Adam crazy. He didn't want to fight with him now. He wanted to be done with this and he wanted to push Ronan against the wall and he wanted to drag his lips against his skin and he wanted to make his boyfriend scream in pleasure. He wanted anything but this.

Adam hated fighting. 

But when he acted like this? When he said stuff like this? It was just a bad night, Adam. It frustrated Adam. 

"You can just go off and get drunk every time you have a bad night!" Adam yelled back. Honestly, before, he would've just marked off this night as another one of Ronan's bad habits and left it at that, but it felt like more than just a bad habit. It felt like an illness. 

It was more than fair to say that Ronan acted out sometimes. Whether it was his anger, his drinking, his recklessness—whatever it was, it was something. Addiction? PTSD? Anger issues? Anxiety? Depression? Adam didn’t care if it had a name, because whatever it was, it was a problem and it was hurting Ronan. 

And it wasn't that he didn't love Ronan. It wasn't that he was picking him apart saying this is wrong, this is wrong, this needs to be changed. He was simply thinking, maybe all these years of unsolved issues are turning into lifelong ailments. Maybe falling in love and being there for Ronan wasn't enough. Maybe it was time they finally dealt with it. Maybe, Ronan just needed some help. 

He didn’t say that, though. Instead he said: “You remind me of Kavinsky.” 

It was cruel. Adam knew that. But, he wanted Ronan to listen. He wanted this conversation to mean something, he wasn’t yelling just to yell. And he meant what he said. On nights like this, he saw glimpses of the Ronan who used to hang out with Kavinsky—race with him, drink with him, smile with him. They were just glimpses, but they were enough to make Adam sick to his stomach. 

Ronan went still. “Take that back.” 

Maybe it was taking it a little far to compare Ronan to that bastard, especially when they were fighting. Adam felt his gut pulse with guilt. Still, Adam wasn’t letting this go. “No, fuck you. You need help,” he spat.

Running a hand over his hair, Ronan scoffed. “What kind of help?”

“Mental help, therapy, fuck, something Ronan!” Adam said. He tried desperately to meet Ronan’s eyes, but they were glued to the floor. He just wanted Ronan to look at him, so he would understand. 

Ronan only scoffed.

Adam tried again: “There’s, there’s something wrong with you! You get angry all the time, for no reason, you punch holes in walls, you get drunk, you drive drunk. You-you’re reckless! Not that it's your fault, but fuck, you're going to hurt someone, or yourself-“

“Hurt myself?!” Ronan interrupted, raising his voice. “Wow, that’s fucking rich coming from a kid who chose to stay in a trailer where he was beat everyday-“ Ronan said, saying every word slowly and loudly as if he was trying to maximize the effect each one had. 

“Shut up, this isn’t about ME!” Adam shot back. They were both cutting each other off now, but at least it felt like they were getting somewhere. Adam felt ticked off by the way Ronan tried to insinuate that Adam’s old home-life was someway form of self-harm. He stayed in that house because he couldn’t leave yet, not because he wanted to keep getting hit. He saw the connection, but it was a reach, even for Ronan. 

“Isn’t it? Adam!? You were beat and abused as a kid! As a teenager! For years! And instead of getting help, you did the opposite: You picked up three jobs and dragged yourself through four years of private school on a partial scholarship-“

“So I could get out of there!” Adam defended himself. 

“Still, Adam! You have just put yourself through hell! And you’re about to put yourself through four years of college, and I don’t think you’ve ever taken a breath, once! If anyone here needs help, it’s you!” Ronan yelled. Everything he said felt like daggers to Adam—not because he what he was saying was mean, but because what he was saying was true. Adam looked down.

Ronan moved closer and said quietly: “You flinch when I go to hug you sometimes.”

Slowly, Adam started to cry. 

“And, and God, I know I’m fucked up, and I know I probably do need help—but you do too, okay? I-I can’t hug my boyfriend without scaring him, and, and that’s not okay.” Ronan finished. His voice was scratchy and sad and at the same time it was soft and comforting and it just made Adam want to cry harder. Somehow, Ronan told him exactly what Adam was trying to tell Ronan. He understood a little better now. 

Adam took a moment to completely take in everything Ronan had said. It was all true. Adam never gave himself time to relax, to heal. His whole life it felt like he was taking the hits, trying to minimize the damages—never had he actually had time to heal. Now, he realized, Ronan, in a way, never did either. 

After realizing this, Adam wiped his tears. He gave Ronan a smile, and a half-hearted laugh. “I can’t get mine to answer his damn phone.” 

Ronan returned the laugh and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms slowly around Adam, who did his best not to flinch. Instead, he let himself relax into Ronan’s touch. He was safe. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll go to therapy or whatever,” Ronan said into Adam’s hair. 

Adam shook his head, “You don’t have to.” There was no use in forcing him, now. He wanted Ronan to want to go on his own terms. 

“No, I want to,” Ronan reassured him. Adam felt Ronan’s lips on his forehead. 

“With me?” Adam asked. 

“With you.”

Adam pulled back from the hug, only to reconnect their lips in a kiss. It was slow, but deep. A make-up kiss. A really good make-up kiss. Adam realized this was probably their worst fight as a couple so far, maybe even one of their worst fights ever. 

Just the same, as the night turned into morning, as the two boys made love on Adam’s small twin bed, and as Ronan actually used his phone to make the appointments, Adam realized this fight would have one of the best endings.


	2. one-on-one and addressing it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t remember,” Ronan said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He felt like he was always like this. He remembered the conversations he had with his dad about his birth. 'When you were born, the rivers dried up and the cattle in Rockingham County wept blood.' Ronan Lynch was destined to be a fuck up. 
> 
> ;
> 
> Or, Ronan's first session with his therapist

The day they decided on was a Saturday, in the evening, a few weeks after their fight. This placed them at the end of June, just two months before Adam would leave for college. The goal was to have appointments every week until Adam left, and hopefully by that time, they could move on to treatment less often and less intense. 

If Ronan needed more therapy after the two months, he would keep going—for Adam's sake. But, honestly, Ronan didn't think that would be necessary. He didn't think any of this was necessary. It was a good thing, sure, but it wasn't necessary. There were other ways he could get better. 

Gansey had driven them. Apparently the office was in the the same town as a library he had been meaning to go to, so he insisted on driving them. Ronan had thought this was just Gansey's way of trying to help out, even where his help wasn't needed. Blue came along too. 

The conversation was light on the car ride over. Gansey was in the passenger seat, rambling about the pros to therapy compared to other forms of psychiatric help, while Blue was driving the Camaro. It suited her, Ronan thought, in the way that driving your Uncle's car would suit your aunt. 

This left Ronan and Adam to the back of the pig. They’re legs rested against each other in a messy fashion, while they both stole glances from time to time. Nothing had changed. 

The conversation subsided when they pulled into the parking lot. It was quiet as Ronan and Adam got out of the car. Ronan heard Gansey yell a goodbye through Blue’s open window after the doors had shut, he yelled back. Adam came up to Blue’s window before leaving.

“You sure you guys don’t want to come in, check the place out?” Adam asked. Ronan knew what he was thinking. The two of them had been through just as much as they did. Gansey had died _twice_ and in addition to dealing with all of it, Blue had problems, too. It wouldn’t hurt if they joined them on this quest. 

Blue sighed. “We have appointments at three,” she said. Her and Adam shared a look that expressed an understanding. Ronan met her eyes and make a face resembling a smile. She returned the gesture. 

The Camaro pulled away. 

Ronan and Adam walked inside, hands clasped together. It was normal for them to act “coupley”, as Henry called it, in public. Even in the parking lot in Aglionby, both Adam and Ronan felt secure in their public displays of affection. If anyone had a problem with it, then they could take it up with Ronan. 

Inside it was really… bright. It seemed just like a hospital, or maybe a doctor’s office. Ronan supposed it was. But, the people looked fine, healthy—only sick on the inside. Ronan realized he was one of those people. A feeling of dread washed over him. 

“I’ll go check us in?” Adam said. Ronan nodded, and Adam squeezed his hand before going to the check in desk. 

Ronan took this time to look around. It really didn’t seem like a half bad place, really. It just had a vibe that Ronan wasn’t a fan of. It felt fake. All the posters and decor felt like a synthetic version of comfort. The people sitting in the false waiting room varied. There were old people, young people, and many people in the middle. Ronan wondered if he would still be here when he was in his 30’s. He hoped not.

Adam came back before he had time to wonder further. He handed him a few papers along with a clipboard and a pen. “My doctor’s on this floor, but yours is on the one above,” he pointed to the room number on one of the papers. “I trust that you can find your room and fill everything out yourself. Unless you want me to walk with you or…”

Shaking his head, Ronan took the papers from Adam. “No, I got it,” he said. “Thanks though,” he added as an afterthought. Ronan thought he was getting better at this whole ‘being nice’ and ‘being a good boyfriend’ thing. Perhaps he didn’t even need to be here at all. He was handling it just fine on his own, really. 

Adam gave him a smile. He looked nervous. Ronan realized this was going to be a tough thing for Adam. Ronan talked about his issues enough. And everyone knew what happened with his dad, he didn’t keep his secrets hidden. While Adam, took months upon months to admit his problems to even his closest of friends. Even know, Ronan couldn’t think of a time where Adam had ever talked about it out loud. This _was_ going to be harder for Adam, Ronan thought, than it was going to be for him. 

Before going to his room, Ronan placed his hand on Adam’s hip and pulled him forward into a kiss. A quick one, just to reassure Adam, as well as himself. The next time he kissed Adam, everything would be a little easier, he thought. 

“See you,” Adam said, then they parted ways. 

While Ronan was waiting on the second floor, he started to fill out the papers Adam had given him. The first contained information about his doctor, but it was mostly asking for basic information on Ronan. He filled out what he could. The second contained his payment information. It was decently expensive—about a $100 an appointment, but the numbers didn’t even phase Ronan. The third, Ronan realized, was _Adam’s_ paper containing payment information. Ronan had told Adam that he was of course going to cover his expenses, because he was the one that made him go—but, he hadn’t actually expected Adam to comply so easily. He felt a sense of pride wash over him. Adam was getting better.

Still, Ronan knew they had a long way to go. Things wouldn’t always be this simple. 

The therapist that was assigned to Ronan arrived promptly at noon. He introduced himself as Dr. Mathews and shook Ronan’s hand. A part of Ronan found comfort in the similarity between his doctor’s name and his younger brother’s. Ronan introduced himself as well. They headed inside Dr. Mathew’s room. 

The room was decent. It was less of a doctors office and more of a teacher’s room. There was a desk, along with a few chairs, and a lot of books. There were posters too, but instead of trying to evoke a false sense of security, they mirrored Dr. Mathews own personal interests—dead presidents, old books, and what looked to be Roman architecture. 

Dr. Mathews sat in a rolling chair beside his desk, while Ronan sat in a normal chair, in front of the doctor. It was quiet for a while while they settled. 

The first thing he asked Ronan was: “What brings you here today?”

It was a simple question, but a difficult one to answer. There were many reasons why Ronan was here today. He was here _today_ because he could not come tomorrow and wasn’t able to come yesterday. He was _here_ in the first place because Adam made him go. He _was_ here because he listened. He _needed_ to be here because he had issues beyond his own comprehension. Ronan found it difficult to explain that to someone he just met—that, and he didn’t feel like talking, at least not yet. 

“I don’t know,” he offered instead. He felt smug in his answer. Maybe, Dr. Mathews would give up on him and end their session early, then he could go home and Adam wouldn't be able to nag him anymore, because he had tried. 

“Surely, there must be a reason,” Dr. Mathews made a face. He was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his waist, and his hands clasped together in thought. His eyes were intense, too, like he was already trying to pick and tear apart everything that was wrong with Ronan. All these things made Ronan feel on edge. He didn’t like this.

Ronan didn’t answer. 

“Well, why did you make the appointment?” Dr. Mathews tried a third time. With the questioned narrowed a little more, Ronan decided he might as well say _something_. 

“My boyfriend wanted me to,” he answered. 

This time, Dr. Mathews moved to write something down in his notebook. This angered Ronan. Why did he have a notebook with him in the first place? It made Ronan feel like he was being observed, studied, and not in the nice way that he imagined Adam would study him. He felt like he was being analyzed—taken apart piece by piece so that his flaws would become visible, prominent. It seemed backwards. 

“And why is that?” Dr. Mathews asked. He asked a lot of questions. Ronan didn’t feel he had a lot of answers. 

“Well, we had a fight,” he choses. He doesn’t know if that makes sense, or if it was the right thing to say, but at least he came up with _something_ to say. 

“What about?” 

Ronan shrugs and shifts in his chair, trying to get comfortable. “A l-lot of things, I guess. He was upset because I kept acting out, and I never make any efforts to… help myself? Fuck, I don’t know.” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what they had fought about, it was just difficult to explain it. 

“Do you fight a lot?” Dr. Mathews asked.

“Yeah,” Ronan answered. That one was easy. 

“Why?” 

“A lot of reasons.” 

“Specially?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know. I get angry?” Ronan swore again. The set up of this therapy made him feel uncomfortable It was just question and answer, but every answer was followed by another question, no matter how suitable the answer was. He felt like he couldn’t win. 

“And?” Mr. Mathews asked, wanting Ronan to go on. 

Ronan cursed again. “I guess, Adam’s really stubborn, sometimes. And if he’s feeling especially stubborn when I’m feeling especially angry, which is a lot of the time, we’ll fight.”

“Okay,” he answered. He wrote more down in his notebook, and when he finished, he just looked at Ronan. 

It was quiet. It was quiet a lot here. 

“When did this all start?” Dr. Mathews asked after a little while. Ronan assumed he meant when did _everything_ start, not just the fights with Adam. 

“I don’t remember,” Ronan said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He felt like he was always like this. He remembered the conversations he had with his dad about his birth. _When you were born, the rivers dried up and the cattle in Rockingham County wept blood._ Ronan Lynch was destined to be a fuck up. 

“Did something happen?” Dr. Mathews asked, tilting his head slightly to the side, mirroring the way Chainsaw would look at him sometimes. 

_Yes,_ he thought. “I guess so,” he answered instead. 

“Tell me about that,” he said. He had a look on his face that somewhat resembled genuine interest. Ronan wondered how many payed sessions it took for him to master that expression. 

“It’s a lot. I don’t know where to start,” Ronan answered. Should he start off with the part where he was born to a dreamer and a dream, or when both were taken from him? 

“That’s okay. I've got time. You booked me for an hour, might as well talk to pass the time—unless you'd rather sit here in silence?” Dr. Mathews cracked a smile that made him start to resemble something similar of an actual human being. Ronan figured he had a point. If Adam was going to be here somewhere, talking about his problems, them he might as well too. 

Ronan told him everything. Well, everything that he could without raising unnecessary suspicions. He started with his father. He told him how he was the lucky brother that found Niall lying dead, no _killed,_ on the payment outside his house. He told him how he loved Niall more than any of the Lynch brothers. He told him how he stole his father’s BMW two days later. The brothers stopped being friends. Ronan stopped being Ronan entirely. He told him that his mother fell ill shortly after, only adding to his long list of problems. He even told him about the nightmares (because even normal people have those). 

It went on for a while. It was mostly Ronan talking and Dr. Mathews nodding along. He helped Ronan articulate what he was trying to say, but never offered any advice or anything. He was just listening, it seemed. 

They eventually veered off the topic, which Ronan was thankful for. It was hard to explain everything from the beginning if you weren’t there to witness it. There weren’t nearly enough words to describe what Ronan felt when his father died. He felt glimpses of it when Aurora died, Noah too—but there was nothing like the first time. 

Dr. Mathews smacked his lips together and leaned forward in his chair. “Okay, you mentioned a boyfriend. Was coming out hard? Coming to terms? I have a lot of patients with traumatic experiences surrounding the topic."

Ronan shrugged. “I mean, it wasn’t that bad,” Ronan said. It was underwhelming if anything. Ronan just liked boys and that was that, really. 

“When did you realize you had an attraction to boys?” he asked. 

“Around the same time my dad died,” Ronan answered. 

“That must've been hard on you, I imagine. Having to handle such huge aspects of your life at once.”

Ronan had never really looked at it that way before. “Yeah it definitely was a... contributing factor.”

Dr. Mathews furred his eyebrows. “A contributing factor to what, exactly?”

Ronan sighed. “I don't know, being... sad? Angry? Hating myself? I don't know just, teenage angst.” His whole life felt like a bad story of teenage angst. 

It was quiet again. Ronan went on. 

“My brother Mathew, was always my mother’s favorite. And Declan was my dad’s. After everything happened it just kind of made sense. Of course _I’m_ gay. I’m Ronan, the fucked up middle child that no one wants. It just made sense. I mean, _I_ never had a problem with it, exactly. It just added on to everything else. Does that make sense?” Ronan said. 

Really, he didn’t struggle with his attraction to boys over girls. Ronan struggled with being Ronan. Waking up everyday and having to come to terms with being himself was the hard part. Being gay was just a side affect of being Ronan.

Dr. Mathew nodded, "Yes, that's perfectly normal." 

Ronan shrugged. “And I guess that's when things got bad.”

From there, they talked about a lot. They talked about the racing, the drinking, and the anger issues. They talked about Aurora, too. They even talked about Blue. 

They talked about how when they first met Blue, it was because she was dating Adam. He explained that in some fucked up way, he took an instant disliking to Blue, just because Adam liked her. In a way, it felt Blue was just another way for Ronan to hate himself. He wasn't a pretty girl like Blue was. He wasn't a girl at all. Adam wouldn't want him. He projected his hate for himself onto Blue. Dr. Mathews agreed with his speculation. 

“There was a guy, too. Kavinsky,” Ronan paused. His name felt foreign in his mouth. “I would drink with him and I would street race with him and, and everything. He was like me, he understood. But, when I was friends with him, that’s… That’s when it got really bad,” Ronan explained. He figured Kavinsky was a big part of the problem. He took his bad happens and multiplied them. 

Dr. Mathews smacked his lips together and leaned forward. “Were you ever suicidal then, Ronan?”

Ronan took in a breath and broke eye contact. He didn’t expect blunt questions like that. Not even Gansey or Adam or his brothers would ask him questions like that. Ronan thought then that he had never heard a question like that asked out loud in real life before. He figured there was a good reason for that.

It was a hard question. A hard question to ask and a hard question to answer. After his dad died, Ronan remembered very vividly wanting the flashbacks to stop. He wanted to stop seeing his dad, lying there, lifeless. He wanted to stop having the dreams that would haunt him long after he woke up. He wanted to stop the feeling of helplessness that followed him around every where he went, every second of everyday. He had wanted it to stop. All of it.

He answered, “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“For a long time. I don’t really know when it stopped,” Ronan admitted. Even though the scars on his wrist weren’t really from an attempt, he couldn’t truthfully say he hadn’t thought about it before. 

“Are you suicidal now?”

Ronan shook his head. “No, no. But, I’m still sad I guess. I wouldn’t say I’m happy,” he said.

He knew that Adam was happy now, but he couldn’t honestly say that he was. He thought that just was him though, he didn’t think he would ever be happy. And that was just Ronan. His fathers words echoed in his head again: _When you were born, the rivers dried up and the cattle in Rockingham County wept blood._ “And that’s why Adam wanted me to make the appointment. I still have bad nights and go back to how things were.”

Then, before he could say anything else, an alarm on Dr. Mathew’s phone went off. It had been an hour, already. Ronan had survived his first appointment. 

“Well, I think that’s a good ending point, don’t you?” Dr. Mathews asked, and Ronan nodded. Truthfully, he was ready to get Adam and get out of this place. It hadn’t been horrible, but he would rather be home. 

Before he left, Dr. Mathew handed him the notebook. Ronan furred his eyebrows. Why was he giving him the notebook? 

“Notes, on the session. I also jotted down what you can work on until our next appointment, as well as some vague advice—a starting point for getting better. Also, you can show it to Adam so he can know what you did. I figure it’s a nice thing to have after the first session,” Dr. Mathews explained with a smile.

Ronan stuttered, but accepted the notebook. He held it in his hands and looked at it. Here was everything. They exchanged goodbyes, and when Ronan got to the hallway, he looked through the notes. He hadn’t realized that they went over so much. He also felt bad for cursing Dr. Mathews in his head every time he stopped to write. 

After looking over the notes, Ronan felt a sense of accomplishment wash over him. It felt good to get it all off his chest, he guessed. 

A few minutes later, he was reunited with Adam. He looked a little shaken, but he supposed he did as well. They shared a hug in the waiting room. Ronan was exhausted. 

“Home?” he asked into Adam’s hair.

Adam nodded. “Home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hoped you enjoyed this slightly longer chapter... i feel like i captured how it feels at ur first session w a therapist, and i feel like this was actually pretty in character. i hope you all feel the same! :)
> 
> i think i will start updating this fic mondays/tuesdays and thursdays, if everything goes well... keep liking and commenting! it means a lot! thank you ;-)


	3. support groups and talking about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would someone trust their captor? Love their abuser? Adam wondered the same thing. But in a way, he understood. He understood very well. Because his mind would take the trailer, would take his dad, and would take the bruises—and downplay them. His mind would try to look at the positives, even when there clearly shouldn’t have been any positives. Going a week without being hit was not a positive, but in context it was. 
> 
> Adam, personally felt like Stockholm Syndrome was a way for his mind to cope. Everything was going so well for him. He was at Aglionby, he had friends, he felt okay. His mind wanted everything to be okay, so slowly, his mind changed everything until it was okay. That was Stockholm Syndrome. 
> 
> ;
> 
> Or, Adam attends his first group therapy session and they talk about Stockholm Syndrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so while i was doing some fact checking (or trying to) i came across a paragraph in trb where adam admits that he has stockholm syndrome (or thinks he does) and i was just kind of shocked like, wow why don't we talk about this more?? so that's kind of where this chapter went... 
> 
> also i don't know if it's confirmed anywhere how long adam had been abused, so i just went w my gut on that part... anyways enjoy and hopefully i will be updating this thursday !!

Adam woke up to the sound of Ronan’s voice, the smell of his skin, and the feel of his bed. The vaguest of thoughts of last night came to his mind. He had fell as sleep at Monmouth, with Ronan by his side. This was common for them. Not as common as falling asleep at the Barns, or at St. Agnes, but it was still common. There was something about Monmouth that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else. 

“You ready for today?” Ronan asked, his voice loud, a contrast from the quiet night Adam had been listening to for hours. Now, the morning light streamed in through the windows, the only noise being the very noisy Ronan that lay next to Adam. He took a moment to let his ears and eyes adjust to being awake. “Adam?”

Adam stirred. After his body registered where a warmth was coming from, he melted into Ronan's touch. He was lying on Ronan's chest—not really _lying_ on him, exactly, more like the two of them threw themselves into he other, making a messy pile of limbs. They were tangled. 

“Yeah?” Adam responded, taking in a breath. He looked up at Ronan, who was looking down at him with a certain softness that he only possessed in the early hours of the day. It was like during the night, Ronan had dreamt off some of his harsh edges, and was waiting for the day to call them back. Until then, Ronan would let himself be soft. As if to show example of this, Ronan ran his hand through Adam’s dirt-colored hair, rubbing circles soothingly into his scalp. Adam felt softened by this event himself. Ronan was a magical being. 

“You ready for the psych-ward today, Parrish?" Ronan repeated, this time in a slightly more Ronan way. Still, his hand remained tangled in Adam’s hair, as the rest of his body remained tangled with the rest of Adam’s. 

Adam laughed quietly. "It's not a psych-ward.”

“Feels like one.” 

This, Adam felt in his chest. The ‘psych-ward’ was his idea in the first place. If it was hurting Ronan more than it was helping, it would be on Adam. He couldn’t deal with that in addition to everything. It saddened him, though, more than anything. Still, there was an irony that Adam could understand. Getting help for your old problems seemed to spark new problems. 

“I know,” Adam said. He allowed himself to take in his boyfriend this morning. Ronan was captivating. This, Adam has always known. He had always been striking, but this morning, he was beautiful, and rough. Ronan Lynch was beautiful in the way wreckage was beautiful. It was something about broken and damaged things that was daringly attractive.

Maybe Adam liked damaged things. Though, at times like these, Ronan didn’t seem damaged. It was mornings like this where Adam thought that maybe Ronan’s flaws didn’t take away anything from him, instead, gave him meaning. It was his flaws that made him perfect, Adam thought. Adam didn’t deserve perfect. Sometimes, Adam didn’t think he deserved anything at all. Then, Ronan took his hand and rubbed circles into it, the same way he did to his scalp earlier. The gesture was innocent, but sent fires through Adam’s mind. He forgot every bad thing about himself when Ronan touched him. Cliché, sure, but it was true. Adam felt Ronan’s touch everywhere. He was awake this morning. 

Adam supposed that was a good thing, to be awake. He would have to be for today. In addition to having to go back to therapy, he also had to stop at the Barns with Ronan. He made a mental note to remember to bathe Opal before they left—Ronan always forgot things like that. Perhaps, that morning was the start to a good, fulfilling day.

“I guess, I guess I’m ready. It’s not the worst thing.” The worst thing had already happened. Now, was just the after shocks. "Are you?” Adam said, addressing Ronan’s earlier question.

Ronan just groaned in response. 

"You'll be fine," Adam said. He decided now was a good time to untangled himself from his boyfriend. He did his best, then rolled over, got up, and started getting dressed for the day. "They have me going to group therapy, today, actually." 

“Oh, yeah?” Ronan asked, looking up from his side of the bed. 

Adam nodded. He maneuvered around some packing boxes, looking for something decent of either his or Ronan’s to throw on. 

"A room full of abused kids,” Ronan half-heartedly laughed. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Glaring his eyes, Adam made his way over to Ronan and shoved him. "My doctor thought it would be good for me to see other people who had been where I was and, and see how they're doing. Positive reinforcement? Or something?” Adam explained. “And get up, if you’re going to make fun of me this early in the morning, you should at least be dressed.”

Ronan scoffed, but got up anyway. ”I think," he paused, pulling his shirt over his head, "she's putting you in there to show _them_ what _they_ could be. You're like the poster boy for abuse, rags to riches, from trailer park to Harvard yard." 

Adam laughed, pulling Ronan close to peck him on the lips. "Thanks, maybe.”

Later, as they walked out of Ronan’s room to eat breakfast with Gansey, Adam stopped for a moment. “You do know I’m going to Cornell, not Harvard, right?”

Ronan just laughed. “Same thing, Parrish.”

;

Hours later, the two arrived at the ‘psych-ward.’ Ronan went to see his doctor, and Adam went to his support group—HAVOCA. It was for adult (or at least not children) victims of childhood abuse, and its purpose today was to hopefully make Adam feel less alone, or at least that’s what his therapist, Dr. Martin, had said. 

On arrival, it was obviously different from the therapy he had received one on one. Few people sat clustered around in chairs, maybe ten or eleven. They were sat in a library. Instead of a therapist leading it, the support group was run by a guy named Pat. Pat was wearing a purple shirt and was wandering around the space at that moment. The biggest difference wasn’t the people, or the space they were in, but rather the energy that existed in the group. Adam couldn’t explain it. 

The first time Adam was here, he and his therapist hadn't talked of much. To be fair, Adam's problems were mostly black and white. He was abused. He was poor. He had an unnecessary pride. And, he was awfully stubborn. All of his problems derived from that. It was simple to explain, hence why his first session hadn’t lasted long and hadn’t been that intense, because Adam’s problems had a simple answer.

When he thought of Ronan, he thought of complicated. He thought of dead father and dead mothers, night horrors and bloodied wrists, fast cars and Kavinsky. 

Adam wasn’t complicated, he wasn’t unknowable. He was _just_ abused.

“Okay, welcome back everyone,” Pat had said after everyone settled. Adam kept his gaze fixed on him, since he didn’t know anyone else. “It’s nice to see some new friendly faces here today as well as familiar ones.” He glanced back at Adam. “Like, always, let’s go around and introduce ourselves.”

At first, it wouldn’t seem like the best idea to go around and blatantly state your name, your age, and what was wrong with you—but, Adam supposed it was something in that bleakness that made it easier.

“Let's start with Monte, then Luke, and then maybe we can hear from some of our new faces?" he said, and eyed Adam again. He mentally started running over what he would say. 

So, Monte introduced herself. She was twenty. She had been going to meetings for six months. And, she had been abused for nine when she was a teenager.

That was the format by which they introduced themselves. A boy named Luke went next. He, was only fifteen. He had been abused since he was twelve, and this was his third meeting. 

It was a lot—the introductions. Support great was a lot different than being one on one. There were no sugar coatings, no warnings. It was just bleak, blatant, and straight forward. 

The first girl, Monte, had been going here for six months. Six months. Six months of talking, sitting, _healing_ , and she still wasn't better. Someone had fucked her up so badly that not even six months had been enough. The second boy, Luke, was only fifteen years old. He was attending child abuse group therapy sessions at fifteen! It was astounding; it was astounding in the worst way possible.

It was almost Adam’s turn to go. While he had been shocked by others introductions, he realized his was going to be just as bad. 

A few more introduced themselves. It was all roughly the same. Adam felt better about how his own introduction would sound when another boy said he had been abused since he was five, up until he finished high school. He immediately took back the thoughts. He didn't feel _better_ , he just felt less alone in the fact. 

He knew it was silly, to feel alone in a group of people who were all exactly like him. they all had endeavored the same thing Adam had, they all knew the same pain. Yet, Adam still felt like an outsider. He felt like when people looked at him, they looked with pity—not just here, necessarily, but in general. Even without bruises, Adam still had to bore the fact that he was a fuck up. And even being with other fuck ups would not erase that fact.

The boy who had been talking, finished. It was Adam’s turn. 

Like everyone else had, Adam stood up. He took a breath, and steadied his voice. The last thing he needed was for this damn support group to think he was weak. If he was going to address his past, he was going going to do it with confidence "I'm Adam. I'm eighteen. This is my first meeting, and I've been abused since I was seven. I got out last year, so, ten years, in all." 

It was quiet. That wasn't saying much, though, because it always seemed to be quiet in these kinds of places. It was strange. Still, Adam could find comfort in the quiet—because no one had laughed, no one had made fun of him, and most importantly, no one was giving him pity. If anything, they were just bored of him, of this group. 

Adam wouldn’t blame them. 

Pat held his gaze afterwards and gave him a smile. 

"Clay, will you go next?"

And like that, it was fine. 

;

After introductions, it was time for the session to actually start. Dr. Martin had explained to Adam that they usually had a theme for each week of meetings. This way they could avoid talking about the same things, and students could sign up for meetings with topics that would help them. Adam didn’t realize what week Dr. Martin signed him up for until Pat started to explain. 

“ _Stockholm Syndrome_ ,” he said simply at first, grabbing Adam’s attention. “As most of you probably saw on the sign ups, this week’s meetings will revolve around Stockholm Syndrome. Today, we will just go into the basics, but, you are all welcome to come back on Wednesday when we go into more depth.”

Adam considered this. He remembered Stockholm Syndrome from from his session with Dr. Martin. She talked vaguely of it, mentioning the ways it might harm a person, especially long term. While he hadn’t actively connected himself to Stockholm Syndrome, it had always been there in the back of his mind. 

“How many of you have heard of Stockholm Syndrome?” Pat asked. 

Everyone raised a hand, including Adam. 

“Okay, great. How many of you have dealt with it first hand? I know I have,” Pat said, easing the mood when he was the first one to raise his hand. A few others followed suit. Adam did the same. 

This time, instead of asking another question, Pat turned to Adam. “Adam, why don’t you tell us about that? Your experience with Stockholm Syndrome?” 

Adam froze for a second. As the others turned to look at him, he felt like he was back in the Aglionby classroom, and one of his teachers had just caught him zoning out—and as a consequence, asked him a sudden question. Mostly, that just happened to Ronan, and usually he would just shrug at the unexpected question and let someone else answer it. Adam didn’t have that option at the moment. 

“Go on, it's okay. We're all listening,” Pat gave him an encouraging smile. Adam smiled back at him, though his smile was more of a grimace than anything else. 

“I mean, I haven't ever been diagnosed, or anything, so I don’t know if I can really say I’ve had an experience, exactly—but, I’ve always kind of just known. When I did leave, when I did get away from the abuse, and everything—I felt... I felt,” Adam struggled to find the words for something he had literally never talked about out loud before. 

"Like it would be easier to just go back?" Monte supplied, which Adam was thankful for—his skin had started to grow hot at the thought of failure or embarrassment in his new group. He craved to succeed, always. 

Adam grinned sheepishly. “Yes, precisely. I remember thinking for a moment: _it's not even that bad_. Of course, it was. I knew I was abused, I knew that that place was messed up, but I never actually pieced together how badly I needed to get out of there.”

It was never a priority. In the long run, it was, of course—but it was never the first thing on his mind. He had other things that needed doing. He needed to make money, he needed to pass his classes, he needed to leave; but never immediately. He was always working towards it, but it was never actively a priority. He paused his speech for a moment, needing time to gather his thoughts, wanting to explain himself _better_.

“It was like I was backed into a corner, huddled against myself, taking all the hits, just focused on minimizing the damages. Obviously it hurt, everyday, but getting out of there was never my main focus. Maybe in the long run, sure, but I was just making sure I’d last until the next hit. So, when the hits stopped coming, when I finally got out of the corner, and I was unguarded, in the open, it almost felt easier to just go back into the corner. Because the corner’s not that bad, right? It’s, it’s a safe space, because at least I know what’s going to happen. That’s when I would start thinking: the corner is not that bad, _he's_ not that bad. And I guess, that's, that's what Stockholm Syndrome is, to me, at least.”

Adam finished talking, but he could’ve said more. Because, even though, he always knew things were bad, he never really knew _for sure_. he could never really get an accurate grip on things. He never knew if he was over-reacting, or if he was being played by his own mind.

Because, it sounds really silly at first. Stockholm Syndrome: feelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor. 

Why would someone trust their captor? Love their abuser? Adam wondered the same thing. But in a way, he understood. He understood very well. Because his mind would take the trailer, would take his dad, and would take the bruises—and downplay them. His mind would try to look at the positives, even when there clearly shouldn’t have been any positives. Going a week without being hit was not a positive, but in context it was. 

Adam, personally felt like Stockholm Syndrome was a way for his mind to cope. Everything was going so well for him. He was at Aglionby, he had friends, he felt okay. His mind wanted everything to be okay, so slowly, his mind changed everything until it was okay. That was Stockholm Syndrome. 

It was that, and more. It was Adam being happy when he wasn’t getting hit, feeling thankful for his father when he had a few good days. It was feeling love towards his mother, even after all those years of her doing him wrong. It was not wanting to leave because it was easier to stay where he had always been, where he had grown up. It wasn’t loving his father or agreeing with what his father was doing, Stockholm wasn’t like that. It was subtle, but it was there. It was real for Adam.

“Yes, very well-put Adam. You really have a way with words,” Pat said. A few heads nodded in agreement, as they had been doing the whole time Adam was talking. It felt nice.

Adam smiled. “I'd hope so. I'm majoring in communications in the fall.”

"Really, where?" a boy named Gage asked from the corner. He seemed… different. His eyes looked intelligent. Adam realized the boy went to the school he used to go to, he was just a grade above him. 

“Uh, Cornell,” Adam said. He met the other boy’s gaze for a while. Adam found comfort in the fact that someone he had went to school with, had gone home to the same problems he did. It made him feel normal, almost. He realized that was the whole point of groups like this. To make everyone feel normal.

“That’s great, Adam. Really great,” Pat said. “I think Adam is a good example today. Actually, I think we all are,” he said, looking around the circle at the different faces, making eye contact with everyone. “It’s hard to get out of a bad situation, especially when you might not understand just how bad that situation is. But, we all did it. Every single one of us. We are here, and we are alive, and we are well. We have made it.”

Adam looked around the room to see how words might’ve affected others in the room before he let the words sink into his own skin. He did it, he made it. Adam thought maybe he understood this support group a little better now.

It was quiet for a moment. a moment to celebrate their successes, Adam guessed. 

“Still, there is a long way to go. That is why it’s useful to understand Stockholm Syndrome in it’s entirety: you see..” Pat went on, rambling about the different ways the illness can affect people long-term. 

Adam let himself tune out. He took in what Pat was saying, but he stayed focused on what he had said earlier. He had done it. 

Perhaps, Adam could breath a little easier, now. Still, Adam thought about the link from this, to his stubbornness, especially with money, and accepting things. 

Adam didn’t ever want to feel boxed in, like he owed people something. He also did not want to be owned. He wanted to be in control of his own life. Because for so long he had not been in control, someone else had been. If he was in control, if he did things his way, he could be sure of what his life was. If someone else was in control, Adam would always be able to doubt his own senses, because there had been a time where his mind had tricked him into seeing things differently. If he was in control, he could be sure.

Now, with Ronan, he felt he could be sure, too. No matter if Ronan helped Adam with money when he needed it, because at the end of the day, they were both in this together. They both gave what they could and took what they needed. It was not ownership, but partnership. 

Adam repeated the last part to himself: _It was not ownership, but partnership._ The more he thought it the more he believed it. 

The last fifteen minutes was filled with others telling stories, or sharing their own views. He didn’t join in on this, feeling like he had done enough for one day. While he couldn’t gauge if this session helped yet, he could appreciate what the support group did. Adam guessed this wouldn’t be his last visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please give kudos and comment and all that crap!! but mostly, thanks for reading! next chapter will be shorter, but it'll have more pynch scenes!!

**Author's Note:**

> thank uuu for reading!! sorry for all the notes, i probably won't have any on future chapters but just a heads up: i don't know a whole lot about therapy and mental illnesses, so if somethings off or if you think there is a better way i should go about addressing something, please just tell me!! either on here or send me a message on my tumblr


End file.
